


Aftermath

by yocatrina



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Daredevil S2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yocatrina/pseuds/yocatrina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is basically how frank and karen fall in love after dd s2 bc im kastle trash ! </p><p>my tumblr is sapphicleksas.tumblr.com :-)</p><p>trigger warnings<br/>ch. 1 - none that I know of<br/>ch. 2 - blood, weapons, injuries<br/>ch. 3 - blood, gun, injuries, past abuse, child abuse, physical abuse, biphobia/homophobia, alcoholism, murder, death<br/>ch. 4 - injuries ? death/murder, past abuse, child abuse, guns<br/>ch. 5 - kidnapping, death/murder, guns, nsfw/smut<br/>ch. 6 - nsfw mention, murder mention</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. News

Her desk is a complete mess, but she makes sure that Ben and Doris’s picture is visible at all times. She’s almost ready to go, she’s just missing her questions sheet. She’s frantically going through all her papers, if she could only just find the damn thing already, before being late for her interview; she grunts. She finally decides she’s going to improvise, so she puts on her coat and hurries out of the building. It’s a little chilly, so she puts her hands in her pockets, and she sighs in relief when she finds the elusive paper she needs for her interview. Of course it was in your pocket, she tells herself while rolling her eyes. She walks fast, eyes on her feet. Those same feet that ran so many times trying to escape the worst, those feet that Matt and Frank got out of trouble time and time again. She chuckles sarcastically. She’s stuck somewhere between Daredevil and the Punisher.

She gets to the café just on time and she sees her meet up calmly drinking coffee. She gives her best smile as she sits in front of the grey-haired woman. She gets her notepad out and puts her hands on the table.

She clears her throat, “So, Mrs Cacciatore, you said you had documents proving the Mayor’s tax evasions?”

Mrs Cacciatore nods faintly. She carefully looks around before reaching into her bag and quickly handing said documents to Karen.

Karen looks at them carefully, “Thank you. Where did you get a hold of those documents, Mrs Cacciatore?”

The grey-haired woman sighs, “I’m his maid. Have been for the past 10 years. Isn’t ever thanking me, very rude and pretentious man,” she shakes her head in disapproval, “and he thinks I’m bad with English because of my accent, so he leaves his papers on his desk. Dumbass,” she grins.

Karen can’t help but share her smile, “Thank you so much. We’ll get the bastard,” she says as she squeezes the other woman’s hand gently.

Mrs Cacciatore adds, “You know, Miss Page, you do good. I have a son, barely older than you. You’d get along.” Her eyes are hopeful and Karen politely tells her that she’d rather focus on her up and coming career in journalism and thanks her before leaving.

When she gets back, an envelope thrones over the pile of disordered paper on her desk. She curiously searches for a return address, but there’s none; there isn’t even a name to give her a clue. She opens it rapidly and reads its content:

 _Good stuff about the hero thing. This is your calling. Don’t give up. I look forward to reading more of your stuff, ma’am._  
_Sincerely yours,_  
_The Dead Man._

It’s concise and direct; it’s all Frank. She’s happy to know he’s still alive, she’s relieved that his crusade is over, even though she knows he’s still aching. She feels an urge to write back, to tell him that he’s not the hero she talks about in her article, that his numbness to violence is horrendous, that she hates him — except she doesn’t hate him. She wants to, for all the horrible things he’s done to avenge his family, but she can’t. She understands him. She sees herself in his righteous mind and acts. His darkness doesn’t negate his light.

She thinks about him often, especially when Matt visits her. She’s relieved to know the truth about Daredevil, she’s thankful for all the times he helped her. She learns about Elektra and she helps him grieve. If there’s one thing Karen knows, it’s grief. He sobs and she holds him, but she doesn’t want more than his friendship. He doesn’t quite understand how her feelings disappeared, especially after he told her the truth, and she tries to explain it for the hundredth time: He hurt her over and over again and the fact that she now knows his secret doesn’t change that. She’s tired of losing control of her emotions.

She much prefers the time she spends with Foggy. He’s jolly and gentle, caring and funny. He sometimes brings Marci to Josie’s and Karen loves being able to forget about it all for a while. She also loves that she can be honest with Foggy. They both worry about Matt, but they have each other.

She receives a letter every time she writes a new article, and she looks forward to them. She grows fond of them and keeps them in her locked bottom drawer.

She just published her fifth article. There’s no letter this time.


	2. Breaking Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw blood, weapons, injuries

She catches a glimpse of Foggy’s shiny hair in the crowd and she makes her way to him. Marci is there, too, and Karen would be glad to see her if she didn’t have her mind a thousand miles away.

She still greets her with a hug, though, “Hey, Marci. You’re particularly beautiful today.”

Marci smiles, “Aw, thanks. I think it’s the lighting,” she answers.

Karen shakes her head, “Not at all, and you know it.” Marci winks. Karen adds, “So, Foggy, still a hot shot lawyer?”

Foggy smirks, “Of course.” He points to Marci, “She needs my help.” 

Marci rolls her eyes playfully and announces that she’s going to the bathroom. Foggy compliments Karen’s work and she blushes lightly. She thinks about the letters. She’s not sure if she should tell Foggy about them, but she does anyway.

She starts, “I get letters complimenting me after every article I publish, always by the same person. But,” She hesitates for a second, “it’s been a week and I haven’t gotten anything. I can’t reach this person and I’m getting worried out of my mind.” 

She exhales. Foggy looks at her with compassion, “Listen, I know for a fact that Frank can take care of himself, and he’s damn good on the battlefield. I’m sure he’s okay.”

Karen scoffs, “That obvious, huh?” She clears her throat, “I know he can fend for himself, I just… What if he was unlucky this time? I’ve starting looking for him two days ago. Not a trace.” She looks down. “I hate not knowing what he’s up to.”

Foggy affectively puts his hand on her right shoulder, “Did you ask Matt?”

She nods, “I did. He hasn’t heard anything.”

Foggy continues, “Only time will tell. You did everything you could, Karen. It’s out of your hands.”

Karen looks up at him. He’s right, but she can’t shake the knot in her stomach. They change the subject as soon as Marci gets back from the bathroom, and Karen leaves soon after. 

She can’t fall asleep. She’s looking at the ceiling, she’s imagining him bruised and bloody, slowly dying while he’s chained to a chair, barely conscious; the blood from his mouth dripping on his thighs, the air a mix of his blood and his sweat, knowing that nobody’s coming for him, unwilling to fight for his empty life. She catches herself having tears in her eyes. She blinks them away and rolls on her left side. She can’t bare to think that there’s a possibility she might not hear from him ever again. He grounds her, gives her even more courage than she already has, inspires her to help those in need. She wishes she could make the world a better place not only because it’s unforgiving for so many, but because _he_ deserves to feel peace. He deserves to sit on a bench in Central Park without being scared. She hopes that, one day, he gets to see the beauty of life once again. He’s suffered enough, and so has she.

She hears a knock so faint she thinks her mind tricked her, but she hears it again. Her blue eyes are wary, she’s scared it’s Matt half dying because of some fight he had as Daredevil. She hurries to the door and opens it swiftly. His brown eyes stare at her, he’s drenched in blood and has a knife stuck in his forearm. She’s so shocked that she’s paralyzed. He gives her his signature lopsided half-smile and waves with three fingers, as if this was a casual encounter on the street. As if his situation wasn’t critical. She has no clue what to do; she has no medical training and she can’t bring him to the hospital because he would be recognized immediately. She reaches him and crouches under his right arm — the one that doesn’t have a knife in it — only to get back up and support part of his weight. She helps him walk to her couch. She’s frantic, she looks all around to find something, anything, that could help him right now, and she runs to her bathroom to get bandages and alcohol. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and she cries while she does her best to stop the bleeding, all the bleeding from a million places. She’s so focused on the blood that she almost forgets the knife. She wipes the tears off her eyes so that she can see better, analyze the situation, help him. She disinfects and bandages the wounds she can — the smallest ones — but it’s not enough, she can’t give him stitches to stop the hemorrhage, she can only press his open wounds with a towel. She suddenly remembers that Matt gave her Claire’s number just in case, and she takes her cellphone with a shaky, bloody hand to call her. It’s a long shot but it’s the only solution, it _has_ to work. She never met Claire but she begs for her help and even though the nurse doesn’t know Frank, she’s coming over. 

Karen doesn’t know how much time it takes Claire to get there, she’s lost track of time. When she sees her saviour, she breaks down and sobs uncontrollably while letting Claire get to work. 

She helplessly watches Claire’s expert hands gradually reduce his bleeding. She’s immensely reassured now that Claire is here and she’s so grateful for her. Karen’s breathing evens when Claire starts her careful suturing. Frank is unconscious and she hopes with all her heart that she reacted soon enough for Claire to save him. When it’s over, Claire’s tired eyes assure her he’ll get through it, but not without consequences. Karen insists she sleeps in her bed and she obliges, but not before Karen hugs her and tries to thank her. Karen doesn’t know how to repay her, and Claire tells her that she’s glad she could help the Punisher and ‘Don’t tell Matt, but I think Frank does good,’ and Karen can’t help but smile. 

Karen pulls a chair next to the couch where he lays and refuses to sleep until he wakes up, but exhaustion washes over her. She wakes up disoriented the next morning to find Frank still sleeping. She longs for his deep brown eyes. She gets up and makes coffee and breakfast for three, just in case Frank wakes up. Claire joins her shortly after and eats her eggs with appetite. 

“I can never thank you enough. I know I don’t have much to offer, but if there’s anything you need, please call me,” Karen blurts out. 

“Just tell him to be careful, for fuck’s sake,” Claire shakes her head lightly, smiling. 

Karen returns her smile, “Oh, I’ll tell him alright. He won’t listen, though.”

Claire rolls her eyes, “I’m not surprised.” She puts a bottle of painkillers on the counter and announces her departure.

Karen hugs her tightly and teases, “What is it that makes you the official vigilante nurse?” 

Claire laughs softly, “Believe me, if I knew, I’d try to find other nurses with the same qualities so that I could sleep once in a while.” She winks, goes through the door, and just like that, she’s gone. 

Karen sits back on her chair and waits patiently for hours until Frank finally opens his eyes. She notices he’s panicking and she leans in close enough to take his hand in hers and softly caress his cheek. His whole body relaxes and he tries to adjust himself in order to see her better. He groans and Karen convinces him to stay still. She moves her chair in another angle and she’s so happy to see his brown eyes again. He opens his mouth as wide as he can with his injuries, and she makes him swallow painkillers with a glass of water. He reaches in his pocket with difficulty and takes a paper out. She carefully picks it. There are splatters of blood on it and her breath stops when she grasps what it is. She reads it:

_The cartel you talk about in your last article won’t exist for long. You’ve got your next article covered._

_The Dead Guy_

Tears stream down her face as she looks at him with fondness. 

He smiles, too, “I’m sorry it didn’t get there on time. They, uh,  they held me for a while.” his voice is hoarse like the one of a daily cigar smoker. She laughs through her tears and kisses his knuckles. 

“You scared me,” she whispers.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” he chuckles, “Was almost dead to you for real, right?”

She smiles again, “Shut up, Frank.”

He suddenly looks apologetic, “I’m, I’m sorry I put you through this shit. You — you’re the only one I know in the city.”

She cups his face and brushes her thumb over his brow and he leans into her hand, closing his eyes.  

She adds, “It’s not my first rodeo,” and he chuckles before falling asleep.


	3. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> karen and frank share stories from their past
> 
> tw blood, gun, injuries, past abuse, child abuse, physical abuse, biphobia/homophobia, alcoholism, murder, death, car crash

She’s reluctant to go to work and leave him alone, so she decides it’s best to call in sick.  He sleeps a good portion of the day. When he finally wakes up, she gives him painkillers, water and a vegetable soup. He’s thankful, and although he’s in pretty bad shape, he gets himself in a half sitting position. Between two mouthfuls of soup, Frank asks her about her day. She tells him it was uneventful but not unpleasant.

“What about you?” she teases.

He laughs softly before groaning and putting a hand on his ribs. Karen smiles shyly. She feels as though she’s known him for years. She knows the deepest corners of his mind, the darkest parts of his soul. She wonders how he was before bitterness washed over him. She’s curious about casual Frank. She feels a connection to him; a calling pulling her closer to him instead of running away from the danger he brings with him everywhere. She’s picturing a young Frank playing soccer. Was there already an aggressiveness in him? Did he tackle the other kids when he played sports? 

“Frank?”

He turns his head slowly and his eyes are eager, “Yeah?”

“Did you play sports when you were a child?” she asks tentatively. She doesn’t know if he’s open about his childhood, or if he’s ready to tell her about it.

A small smile flashes across his face, “I played hockey for a couple o’ years.” He figures she’s not that interested in his childhood, so he stops there; she’s just being polite, surely.

Karen motions for him to continue, “And? Did you like it?”

He’s pleasantly surprised by her curiousness; he hasn’t talked about his peaceful memories in a long time. Hell, he hasn’t even thought about them that much in the past years.

He clears his throat, “I loved it. Was a way to get everything out, you know? All my energy, all my focus was on the ice. Gave everything I got each game. I used to skate good. It was… t’was important to me. I guess I wanted to make my parents proud of me for once. I, uh,” he chuckles, “was not the best at school. Could barely stay in my seat. I think I was a good kid, all in all. People thought I was nice.” He had lowered his head to the floor without realizing it. He looked up at her. He was finished.

Karen’s lips melted together in a sincere smile, “I buy that,” she looks pensive, “How was your first kiss?”

“Oh, man,” he chuckles and, once again, it hurts, “It was alright for a first kiss, I guess. It was her first kiss, too. It was, uh, wet. Kinda gross, actually.”

They both laugh before she adds, “Was it as gross your first time?” 

He shakes his head in disapproval, “Was even worse for my first time. I had no clue what to do. Hell, I didn’t even know how to kiss properly. Poor girl. I still feel bad about it.” He rubs his forehead with his right hand, “For Christ’s sake, it was really bad. Did you have a similar experience?” he asks. He likes talking to her. It’s easy. 

Karen shakes her head, “My first time was amazing, actually. We were both sixteen and her parents weren’t home, so, naturally, one thing led to another and it was nice. I think I came three or four times.” She blushes. Part of her can’t believe she’s telling him about something so intimate, but another part of her isn’t surprised. She’s not scared to open up to him. They’ve been through a lot together, and this conversation just adds to their complicity. 

He stares at her, wide-eyed, “Three or four times? Wow. If only everyone had that nice of a story to tell,” he smiled. 

She couldn’t help but laugh. They were enjoying themselves, and they continued this game for a while. Frank was taken aback when he suddenly realized that he could still be light-hearted and amicable. Who knew the Punisher could have fun? He knows they both have experience with guns, so he asks her about the first time she shot a gun. Her smile immediately falls flat, her eyes seem empty. 

He’s worried he crossed a line and he’s about to apologize when she starts, “I shot my dad.” She waits for a moment, unsure how to phrase this. She’s never told anyone. She looks down, and Frank sees a single tear fall on the floor. He lets her think in silence; he’s been there. He knows what that’s like, to have the gruesome flashbacks rush into your head all of sudden, guilt and fear of judgement overwhelming the thoughts. She puts her eyes on him again. Her tears reflect the light. She gets up from her chair and initiates her pacing.

“My parents were very religious. My dad was an alcoholic.” She scoffs nervously, “My mom was barely around, she was always helping a dozen charities at once. She had cancer; she died young. My dad… He was an alcoholic long before her death and he used to punish us corporally, but when she left… It got infinitely worse. He would beat us so that we would get him another beer, he would hit us with a belt if we asked him anything, whether we asked what was for supper or if we could play with friends. My brother was younger than me and he had trouble anticipating what would make our dad angry, so I would try to stop the beating, but it only made him angrier, but at least he took it out on me. I could take it. Jimmy couldn’t. My dad, sometimes he… he threatened us with a gun. I don’t know if it was loaded. It doesn’t matter.” She stopped, taking a deep breath. She observed Frank’s expression: he looked pained and angry, his eyebrows were almost touching and his eyes were teary. He coughed.

“I don’t know how he found out, but he knew about me and Isabelle, and he almost killed me that night. I could barely breathe, I couldn’t move. Jimmy was hidden in his closet and when it was over, he tended to my wounds, read me stories, fed me. I didn’t go to school that week. When I got somewhat better, he told me he was going to send me in a foster home so that I couldn’t influence my brother. I’d taken his bullshit for sixteen years without fail, but I would not let him keep custody of Jimmy. That night, I did some research on how to fire a gun. I took his pistol and I pointed it at him. He laughed and I was nauseous. Before I knew what I was doing, he was bleeding to death. I had gloves when I shot. I put the gun in his hand, took Jimmy, got in the car and started driving. I had no idea where to go, no one to turn to. I was crying so much I couldn’t see in front of me; I was distraught, scared; I drove too fast. Jimmy kept asking me questions and I wanted to reassure him, so I turned to look at him, and… and — I drove into a tree, I — He —”

It was too much. She started crying uncontrollably, hardly breathing, her hands gripping at her hair. Frank got up with extreme difficulty, but he didn’t care. His injuries weren’t important. He manages to reach her, and her shoulders shudder and shake violently in his arms. She lets herself go completely. She cries loudly, wailing between her sobs.

“He’s dead. I killed him!” She yells. Frank holds her as tight as he can without suffocating her; he wants to make sure she knows he’s there and that he understands. All he wants is to reassure her, tell her she did the right thing and that she’s not at fault, but all he can say is _It’s okay_ and _You’re not alone_. He’s choked up and he’s fighting to hold his tears from falling because this isn’t about him. He feels her guilt so profoundly, he shares her suffering.

He takes one step back so that he can see her. He cups her face gently and looks her in the eyes, “You did what you had to do. You did you best, Karen. It is not your fault. I know you think it is, you think I’m lying, but I’m dead serious.” She goes silent and presses him closer to her. He clenches his jaw tightly.

She whispers, “You’re not at fault, either,” and Frank loses it. His tears find refuge in Karen’s hair and he rubs her back.

Neither of them can tell how long they stay like this, but when they break the hug, they’re exhausted. His fingers linger on her arm. Neither of them wants to be alone tonight and they agree to share Karen’s bed. 

Her pillows smell of her citrus shampoo; her sheets irrevocably smell like her. He takes a deep breath through his nose. Her bed is comforting. She makes sure to put a bottle of water near him, along with his painkillers if the pain is too intense during the night. He’s strangely at ease in her environment. He finds that sleeping on his side relieves his  injured arm and ribs and he covers himself with her blankets. She joins him briefly after. She gets on the other side of the bed and puts her arms around him. Her hand is on his torso; he takes it, intertwining their fingers. Her breath is steady and soft on the base of his neck and he smiles to himself.


	4. This is how it's supposed to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw past abuse, child abuse, death/murder, guns

Karen is relaxed the next morning. She makes coffee — black for him, two sugars and two milks for her — and scrambled eggs. She shakes his shoulder softly, waking him up. He mumbles an apology indistinctly. She sits next to him on the bed, careful not to stare at him. Her phone rings. It’s Foggy, so she picks up.

 

“Hey, Foggy, how are you?” 

“I’m good! Did you hear the news?” he asks, jolly. His tone reassures her.

 

“No, why?” 

 

“Frank tried to take care of some big shot dudes at the Mexican cartel. He failed, though; he tried to stop a drug operation and they put him in some basement for a while, heavily watched. But Matt’s been following his moves, and he got him out, Karen. Matt told me that he made Frank promise not to kill anyone if he got him out, so he didn’t, and apparently Frank’s got a friend in the city, so there’s a high chance that he’s okay. Matt doesn’t know how much he means to you, so he didn’t bother telling you, but I thought you’d like to know,” he blurts out, excited. 

 

“Foggy?” she sighs.

 

“Aren’t you relieved?” he asks, concerned.

 

“Foggy, I’m the friend Frank has in the city. He’s staying at my apartment.”

 

“Holy shit! HI FRANK!” Foggy shouts. Karen scrunches her nose. 

 

Frank raises an eyebrow, “Who’s sayin’ “hi” to me?” 

 

Karen’s embarrassed when she tells him his former lawyer says “hi”. He nods and gets back to his eggs. She promptly ends her phone call. 

 

She gets closer to Frank, “He won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

 

Frank nods, “Good. You trusted him enough to tell him, and I, I trust you, you know? I’m not worried.”

 

Karen assures him she trusts him, too, and he blushes slightly. 

 

She sees it’s almost nine, “Listen, Frank, I gotta go to work, but,” she scribbles numbers on a piece of paper, “here’s my number. You call me anytime, for anything, okay? The phone’s on the nightstand.” She runs to the kitchen, “Here’s some bananas and water. I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge. Oh, and your painkillers are in the first drawer of the nightstand, and, uh —”

 

Frank interrupts her, “Got everything I need, ma’am.”

 

She chuckles nervously and takes him by surprise when she kisses his cheek before leaving. 

 

He’s in a better shape than he thought he would be after the incident in the Mexican cartel’s basement. He’s still fragile, though, so he takes it easy by watching television. As he’s laying in the bed alone, he misses her warmth and her comforting arms. He’s shocked at how much she grew on him in so little time. He knew how brave and strong she was from their first encounter, and he keeps being amazed by it. He knows she can fend for herself, and yet, he wants to do anything to protect her from the cruelty she already had a taste of. If he could, he would kill her father a second time. What kind of scumbag takes advantage of a child’s trust and love? He can sense himself getting angry. 

 

He switches the channel and finds a shark documentary. He watches it intently. He always loved sharks, ever since he was a little kid. They were majestic, brutal; but also curious, loyal, and kind. His favorite was the blacktip reef shark. They hunted in groups, mainly because they were scared of other predators, and they formed friendships with other sharks. They were curious about swimmers but only one fatal attack was ever recorded. When he was younger, Frank desperately wanted a pet shark. His first heartbreak was when he found out he couldn’t have a blacktip reef shark as a pet.

 

Maria once compared him to a shark after they had Lisa. He wouldn’t let them out of his sight, they were so important to him. He remembers the first time Lisa held his finger with her tiny fist, the first time she showed him a dance routine, or when she would talk about dinosaurs for hours. He smiles. He can see Frank Jr playing with his electronic jeep, when he won the soccer tournament. He was so happy and proud and before the celebration, Frank took his son to Dairy Queen’s and they couldn’t stop smiling. He can picture Maria braiding Lisa’s hair, tickling Frank Jr. He remembers that she used to kiss him passionately every time he came back from the Marines, and how the kids would be grossed out by their love. He feels whole when he thinks about those memories. They make him remember that there are things that are worth living for and fighting for. Guilt usually overcomes him when he thinks of his family, but for the first time, he thinks that having them around was worth it even though he lost them. 

 

The shark documentary ends and he decides to take a nap. He wakes up a little while before Karen comes back from work.

 

When Karen comes home, Frank immediately asks her about her day.

 

“Oh, the usual. It was good. How was yours? You weren’t too bored?” she inquires, genuinely concerned.

 

“Nah, I caught a shark documentary. I love sharks. And then I slept like a baby,” he assures her. 

 

She smiles fondly at him, “That’s nice. So, I wasn’t sure what kind of movie you liked, so I picked up R.E.D and Hercules. The Disney movie. You choose.”

 

He gives her a lopsided half-smile, “Hercules is good. Know all the songs, too, so you get a free show.”

 

She laughs and gives him the Chinese takeout. She adjusts the pillows so that they can both see the television properly. She puts the DVD on, and the previews start. 

 

“What’s your favorite song from the movie?” he asks.

 

She ponders before answering, “ ‘I Won’t Say I’m In Love’. It’s catchy and I love Megara. It’s also a crucial point in her development,” she chuckles. 

 

He nods, “Yeah. Mine’s ‘The Gospel Truth’.”

 

She agrees, “Hmm, yeah, good choice.”

 

Frank drops rice on the bed, “Shit. Sorry,” he tries to wipe it off, but she stops him. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiles. He returns her smile. 

 

The movie starts with his favorite song and as promised, he sings along, to her amusement. Karen likes that she gets to see this part of him. She’s glad that he trusts her enough to let his guard down.

 

When they finish their supper, Karen takes care of the dishes. When she gets back to her bed, there’s a distance between them and she unwillingly stares at it, wondering if last night’s proximity was an exception. What if she eliminated that distance right now? Does he want her to get close? Is it wrong to want this? Is she ready for this? Is _he_? 

 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without injuries,” she tells him, trying to get the thoughts out of her head.

 

He laughs, “I need to work on that, don’t I?”

 

Her lips merge in a soft smile, “You’re scarring well, though.”

 

“Is that a compliment?” he teases, laughter in his eyes. 

 

“Not really. If I made you a compliment, it would have been along the lines of ‘Your jaw is neat’ or ‘Your smile is cute’. See the difference?”

 

“You think my jaw’s neat?” he mocks.

 

She rolls her eyes, “It was an example.”

 

He nods, “I see. So my jaw’s not actually neat.”

 

“I— No! That’s not what I meant!” she defends.

 

He pretends to be offended, “I’ve heard enough! My jaw’s not good enough for you, huh?”

 

“Your jaw’s too good for me, actually. Did you look in a mirror lately? See that angle? It’s good. And the bruises really bring out your eyes.”

 

They share a laugh before he adds, “And the lighting in the room brings out _your_ eyes, did you know?”

 

“You know, most people don’t notice, but my left eye has a tiny flicker of green in it.” 

 

“Huh. Never noticed,” he says. 

 

“It’s true!” she brings her face closer to his, “See?” she asks.

 

He cups her face to keep it steady and, naturally, sees the flicker of green. “Well, you ain’t a liar, Miss Page. You didn’t mention how pretty they were up close, though,” he comments. He cups her face a moment longer, maybe more than he should. He leans in the tiniest bit, but he stops. She notices his movement and leans a little, too. Their heartbeats are both fast, their lips are parted. They’re looking each other in the eyes.

 

“You know what?” he whispers. She shakes her head slightly, and he kisses her. It’s soft and tender at first, but she moves her hands into his hair and he deepens the kiss until he’s breathless. His hands leave her face, her hands leave his hair. They’re panting softly.

 

“That was better than your first kiss, right?” she teases with a smile. 

 

He chuckles, “Doesn’t even compare.” 

 

They adjust themselves to cuddle; she leans on his chest and he caresses her hair. She can feel his rapid heartbeat and she smiles shyly. 

 

He points the television screen, “Your song’s starting,” he tells her, kissing her hair. He can’t stop smiling like a fool. He’s content and relaxed, but also relieved, because after what happened with the Blacksmith, he thought he had lost her. He’s never been more happy about being wrong. 


	5. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw kidnapping, death/murder, guns, nsfw/smut

Frank is healing, and after a week or so, he’s almost recovered. They have slept in the same bed ever since the kiss and she loves falling asleep in his arms. He makes breakfast sometimes and she learns about his quirks and habits. For instance, he’ll clench his jaw when he’s emotional, he often mumbles indistinctly, he scrunches his nose after a good sip of coffee and he regularly taps his index finger, as if he was practicing pulling the trigger. He’s a good roommate as well. He cleans his messes and cooks. He always kisses her before she leaves for work, and when she comes back home at the end of the day. She sometimes catches herself thinking he’s one of the best parts of her day — if not the best —and she blushes slightly. They open up to each other: he tells her about his time in the army, and she tells him how she was framed for murder by Fisk and almost killed in her cell.

 

He loves having her around. He’d do anything to see her smile. To his surprise, he longs for her cuddles and kisses during the day, and he’s afraid he’s replacing Maria. He’s  sometimes tempted to push Karen away when he thinks of his late wife and children, but he stops this train of thought. He reminds himself that Karen does not and will never replace Maria, that he won’t forget his family if he stays here with her. He’s simply letting another person into his heart. At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself after he dreams of his family, or, even worse, when he has nightmares about them.

 

She’s tracing his jaw with kisses when her phone rings. She groans and mumbles an apology before answering. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Karen. I need you to do me a favour,” Matt says, hesitantly. 

 

She sighs, “What is it?”

 

“Could you gather all the articles on Fisk that you got at the Bulletin?”

 

She frowns. “I thought we took care of Fisk when we put him in jail,” she affirms.

 

“That’s what I thought as well, but I visited him in prison and everyone answers to him. Even the guards. And he wants to take revenge against me and Foggy for putting him away and I need to find a lead on a weakness of his, or anything that could delay him,” he says nervously. 

 

She rubs her forehead, “All right. I’ll look into it.” She hangs up.

 

Frank gives her an interrogative look, so she tells him it was Matt. He looks down. He feared he might get in the picture. He’s scared he might lose her, definitely this time. 

 

He clears his throat, “You, uh, you talk to him often?” He sips his coffee while waiting for her answer.

 

She shakes her head, “Not really, no. He just asked me to look through the Bulletin files  that are related to Fisk.”

 

He exhales, “Fucking hate that guy. And anyone who works for him.” 

 

She agrees. She takes a quick intake of breath and stops herself from talking. She shakes her hesitation off, “Did I tell you about the time his assistant kidnapped me?”

 

He puts his coffee on the table and shakes his head. 

 

She continues, “His name was Wesley. He had a grudge against me because I visited Fisk’s mother, but also against Nelson & Murdock. He threatened me, told me to spy on them or suffer the consequences. He tried to intimidate me by putting a gun on the table between us, telling me it wasn’t loaded and that he was just tired of carrying it, and I—I took a chance. I took the gun and I shot him. Seven times. I wiped my fingerprints and left.” She feels guilty about it still and Frank can tell; her face is crushed with guilt while she cries. 

 

“Life has not been kind to you, Karen. Look at me,” he says. She does. He continues, “I’m proud of you.”

 

An incredulous chuckle breaks her sobs, “That’s an odd thing to be proud of.”

 

“I disagree. You saved yourself. You were loyal. I think you should be proud of yourself. Besides, Wesley wasn’t doing any good for anybody. You ask me, I say you did the world a service.” 

 

He gets up and opens his arms. She gladly hugs him. He kisses the top of her head.

 

“You know, you never cease to amaze me. You had no choice but to be tough from a young age, but you’re still kind. You look for the best in people even though you’ve been hurt, you still see the beauty in the first ray of light of every new day, and I admire you for it. Wish I could do the same, you know?” He clenches his jaw. 

 

She looks up at him, “You’ll learn.” She kisses him gently. When they break the kiss, he feels the need to say, “I-I know you can take care of yourself. I don’t doubt it for one second. But can I track down the next people who hurt you? Are you okay with that?”

 

She laughs softly. He melts. 

 

“I’m not against it,” she answers. He kisses her forehead. He thinks of their first kiss and he’s so pleased that she’s making him feel something other than hate again.

 

They cuddle in their bed while watching a movie. They kiss deeply, communicating the feelings they’re scared to say out loud. The kisses become more rough, more passionate. She straddles him and he puts his hands on her waist. She nibbles at his neck and he moans hoarsely. She starts grinding her hips against his crotch while she’s giving him a hickey and he grabs her ass. He can feel her smile against his skin. She leaves his neck briefly to remove her shirt.

 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he says when he looks at her. She laughs while removing her bra. He removes his shirt as well, revealing his scars. He cups her left breast smoothly with his left hand. She leans in and he flicks his tongue over her nipple. She closes her eyes and moans. She can feel him between her legs, and she wants him badly. She gets to his side and unbuttons his jeans. He’s breathing heavily in anticipation. She purposely doesn’t remove his boxers right away, kissing his length through the fabric. His cock twitches in between kisses. She slowly kisses the skin above his waistband. She only has time to get to the middle of the waistband when he exhales, “Please.” She smiles and he chuckles when he sees her grin. 

 

She removes his boxers and wraps her right hand around the base of his cock. She kisses his tip before licking him and when she finally takes him into her mouth, he groans and chokes back a sob. This feels so good, she is so good at this and he hasn’t felt this in such a long time. His left hand is in her hair and he grips it gently. He lifts her chin and she gets the hint. He flips her so that she’s under him. He kisses her roughly and she loves it. He kisses her neck, her collarbone. He kisses in between her breasts, making his way down. He removes her skirt and her panties are soaking wet. He removes them, too, and starts kissing her thigh, gently biting it. She rocks her hips forward, begging him to touch her wetness. He licks her and she takes a sharp intake of breath. He purposely doesn’t touch her clit, making her ache for it. She lets out a frustrated groan, “Come _on_ , Frank” He smiles. He tongue fucks her before licking her all the way up to her clit. She moans loudly, “God, yes.” He puts a finger in her and she bites her lower lip. He circles her clit with his tongue until she’s whimpering. He puts another finger in and she lets out a scream. He looks at her and he can see she’s trying not to scream again. He keeps his fingers in her while he gets next to her. 

 

His mouth is touching her ear and he whispers, “You wanna cum, huh? I’ll make you cum.”

 

She laughs, “You’re confident.” 

 

He bites her earlobe, “You’ll see why,” he affirms. He presses his palm against her clit while he fingers her and her breathing accelerates. He breathes down her neck and she exhales, “God, Frank.” She’s trying to catch her breath, he rubs her clit faster and her thighs shake when she cums all over his fingers, “Yes, yes, oh!” She arches her back, throwing her head back. She catches her breath. He kisses her neck before saying, “Told you.” 

 

She laughs whole-heartedly while grabbing a condom. She gives it to him and he puts it on, “Now, what?” he teases.

 

She smiles, “Now, I’m gonna ride you.” She straddles him and carefully places him in position. When he’s in her, he whispers a soft “Fuck!” and she starts grinding him. They both moan loudly. She leans in, pressing her breasts against his chest, hugging his neck. He bites her shoulder and she lets out a loud “Oh” before she starts bouncing her hips up and down. He growls and she accelerates her rhythm, to his pleasure. He grabs her ass firmly and she whispers in his ear, “Spank me.” He laughs. He slaps her ass and she moans. He asks her, “You like that, babygirl?” and she nods, “Mh-hmm, yeah.” He spanks her again and again, and she squeals.

 

“I’m close,” she almost yells.

 

“Hmmm, good girl.”

 

She gets back to a vertical position and he can see her sweat on her neck, breasts, stomach and thighs. Her sweat is flickering in the light they didn’t bother to turn off and this sight makes him cum, “Fuck, yes.” 

 

She chuckles. He rubs her clit with his thumb for barely three seconds and she cums again. He has to hold her so that she doesn’t fall because she’s shaking too much. She falls next to him in the end, and they’re both panting. He removes the condom and throws in the garbage can. He pulls her closer in an embrace.

 

“It was horrible, right?” he kids, laughing. 

 

She shares his laugh, “Oh, it was the worst.” He kisses the top of her head and starts humming faintly. 

 

“What are you humming?” she inquires delicately. She can’t see his face, but he blushes when he answers, “Our song.”

 

She kisses his torso and starts humming ‘Shining Star’ with him.


	6. Two Against One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw nsfw, mention of murder

It’s Monday morning and she’s still sleeping in his arms. The last thing he wants to do is wake her, but she’s going to be late for work, so he traces her arm with his fingers and tells her to wake up softly. 

 

Her tired eyes look up at him and he smiles, “Slept well?” Her lips meet in a sweet smile while she nods. 

 

“You should get ready for work. I’ll make you some coffee,” he announces. He puts his boxers on and heads to the kitchen.

 

She takes a quick shower and gets dressed while Frank feels oddly at ease. He catches himself thinking that he’s betraying his family again, even though he thought he was past this. He shakes his head, but he still can’t help but smile when she steps in the kitchen. 

 

She gratefully sips her coffee. She winks at him, “Nice abs.”

 

He looks down with a smirk, “Don’t make fun of me, K.”

She raises an eyebrow and he can feel his cheeks blushing slightly. He searches for his words, “Yeah, I, uh, I thought — Do you like it?”

 

She smiles fondly at him, “I do, actually. It’s a nice nickname.”

 

He nods and sips his coffee. 

 

Matt steps into the building and walks up the stairs slowly, gathering all the senses he feels. There’s a cat on the first floor, the second apartment on the left smells of cigarette smoke. He locates Karen’s apartment and his face shows disgust. He can smell the raw, musk smell of sex, which is not a scent he ever wanted to smell at her place if he wasn’t involved. She hasn’t told him about this person and he’s curious to find out if he knows them. He stops himself, though, because she’s moved on and if she didn’t want to share it with him, it’s not his place to investigate, but he smells lead, no; he smells gunpowder. He knows Karen has a gun and he hopes she didn't use it. He can’t smell blood, which is a good sign, but maybe the smell of sex is too strong for him to notice. He knocks firmly on her door.

 

She looks surprised when she hears the knock. Frank sits on the couch so that he can see the door without being seen. Karen opens the door and Matt walks in and suddenly stops. He can smell Frank clearly now, he can hear his calm heartbeat. He’s on the couch, sitting nonchalantly. 

 

Matt turns to Karen. He bitterly says “I get that you want to help him, but _sleep_ with him?”

 

Karen gasps but is quick to respond, “That is none of your _goddamn_ business. You have no right to come here —”

 

Matt interrupts her, “I care about you. I’m looking after you, Karen.”

 

She raises her eyebrows, incredulous, “I can take care of myself!”

 

He nods, “Then why is he here? Why else would you want to be associated with him?”

 

“We understand each other. He respects me and accepts that I don’t need saving,” she answers, raising her voice.

 

“How can you understand him, how —”

 

“You don’t know me half as much as you think you do, Matt.”

 

“What are you —”

 

Frank gets up and interrupts Matt, “Calm down, Red.”

 

His words are firm, full of determination. He might be in his boxers, but he’s still intimidating. 

 

Matt explodes, “You told him? How could you, I trusted —”

 

“She didn’t tell me nothin’, alright? I had my doubts when I saw you in court, and then I saw you on the roof. D’you think I was stupid or something?”

 

Matt acknowledges Frank’s remark and nods. He adds, “He’s still a murderer, Karen!”

 

Before she can stop herself, Karen blurts out, “So am I!”

 

She grasps her mouth with her right hand as soon as the words get out. Tears leave her eyes and she fights back a sob.

 

Matt distances himself from her, taken aback. He shakes his head in incomprehension, “What?”

 

Frank gets closer to Karen and looks in Matt’s glasses, “I think you should leave.”

 

“Karen, this can’t be — please tell me this isn’t true,” Matt says quietly.

 

Karen gathers all the strength she has left, and even though her voice is tainted by emotion, her word is final, “Go.”

 

Matt resigns and leaves without the papers he came for. Frank closes the door and locks it. Frank is already thinking of ways to convince Matt that Karen lied, that she just wanted him to go away. It took her all she got to tell Frank, and she’s clearly not ready to tell Matt yet. She doesn’t trust him. Not with this.

 

He takes her hand and puts his other hand on her knee, rubbing it gently. He’s hesitant, “You know, when I get swallowed up by all this shit, I, uh, have a mantra, you know? A phrase I say over and over until I feel better.”

 

She nods and takes a deep breath before saying, “This too shall pass.”

 

He smiles faintly, “One batch, two batch. Penny and dime.”

 

She takes another deep breath and wipes her tears. 

 

He cups her cheek, “I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

 

She takes the hand that caresses her cheek, “I know.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Karen and Frank are in love and I ruined Karedevil for good


End file.
